A Pinch of Ooh La La by Renee Swindle Read Free Book Online Page B

marched over. What the hell was she doing, smoking? And so brazenly.
    I stood over her with my hands on my hips. “
What
are you doing?”
    â€œWhat does it look like?” She put the cigarette between her lips and inhaled like a TV actress—hardly inhaling at all but making a show of blowing a long stream of smoke from between her lips.
    Carmen was Dahlia’s daughter (Dahlia
Whoredeen
as Bailey liked to call her). After Carmen started junior high school, Dahlia had convinced Dad to let them move into the guesthouse until she was on her feet. Dahlia was still there now, even though Carmen was in college and living in the dorms.
    I bent over and snatched the cigarette before Carmen could take a second puff. “You look ridiculous.”
    â€œI have a pack, you know.” She held up the carton and cut her eyes.
    I sat next to her and we listened to the music coming from next door and the steady sounds of laughter and merriment. I asked Carmen what was going on and was met with a flat “Nothing.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you at Dad’s?”
    â€œDon’t feel like it.” She snatched the cigarette I was holding and took a hit. When she coughed, I grabbed it again, broke it in half, and tossed it into the yard. “You shouldn’t smoke, Carmen. What’s wrong with you?”
    She clicked her tongue and leaned back on her elbows. “Whatever. I’ll have one when you leave.”
    I stared at her briefly in disbelief. I was closer to Carmen than to any of my other siblings because we were the only two in the Ross clan who didn’t show a natural ability toward music orart. Sure, I’d had my days as a graffiti artist, but they were long gone, and regardless, I never had the talent to seek out a full-blown career in the arts. Carmen, too, had seemed adrift amid all the family talent, and after disastrous attempts to study the French horn, and later drama, she had settled on majoring in business with the goal of going to law school, two decisions that were as odd to the family as if she’d announced she planned to walk through the Ozarks while reading Greek philosophy. I always kept a special eye out for her because I could tell early on that she wasn’t getting the support she needed. Dahlia was only twenty-two when she had Carmen and never seemed all that interested in being a mother. Since the wives had long since moved on by the time Carmen was born, she seemed to flounder more than the rest of us.
    My relationship with my own mother helped me relate to Carmen’s situation. Karen, wife number two, taught musicology with an emphasis in ethnomusicology. She and Dad had divorced soon after she’d earned her doctorate, and when I was ten, she was hired to teach at a private arts college in Connecticut, where she and I relocated. I hated Connecticut, though, and was beyond miserable—the snow, the boredom, the shock of leaving behind a loud, messy household with people coming and going in order to live with Mom in her small apartment, were too much. (Just thinking about those days put me in a mood.) I missed seeing my older brothers every day, and I missed roughhousing and looking after my younger siblings; I missed hearing my dad’s music and seeing his face. I missed Bailey’s cooking and Joan and Rita. I begged Mom to let me move back home. She agreed when I started showing signs of depression—for instance, sleeping all weekend and losing most of my appetite. She finally let me return only after discussing the situation with the wives, who promised to look after me as though I were their own flesh andblood. It was agreed I’d live with Mom in the summers and visit for Christmas—which was too bad, since Christmas at the Ross house was crazy fun.
    My bookish, academic mom was in no way, shape, or form as wacky or loose as Dahlia, but she had a way of ignoring me that was similar to the way Carmen’s mother treated her. Mom